Page 52 of The Governess and the Rogue

Oh, but it was.

“Yes, thank you,” she managed.

He turned his face into her hair. “Sleep as long as you need,” he said. “I’ll wake you when we get to Calais.”

Bea wondered how any woman could sleep in such circumstances.

But exhaustion had a way of removing one’s inhibitions. Her eyelids grew heavier and, as the train chugged inexorably toward the conclusion of their make-believe romance, she drifted into a boneless slumber in the safety of Jack Beresford’s arms.

Chapter Seventeen

It was half past five in the evening when their steamship from Calais finally reached Southampton. Bea clung to Jack’s hand as they navigated the crowds on the docks. She couldn’t recall when she’d taken hold of it⁠—or if he’d been the one to take hold of hers. Reaching for each other in moments of chaos had practically become an instinct.

It was a luxury, having someone to act as a protector and guide. Bea wouldn’t have thought she’d appreciate it. She was too much an independent person. But the Channel crossing had been treacherous, their steamship rising and falling for hours over the churning waves. Her legs hadn’t stopped trembling since they’d reached port.

Jack, meanwhile, appeared entirely unaffected. He was bright-eyed and alert, and not at all unsteady. His weight partially balanced on his cane, he guided her to a less crowded section of the docks, within sight of the cabstand. There they stopped while Jack instructed his batman, Maberly, to fetch their luggage and to find them suitable transport.

“Yes, sir,” Maberly said. “Right away, sir.”

When the batman had gone, Jack turned to Bea. “Not long now,” he said, still holding her hand.

Not long until what? Bea was tempted to ask. Until they hired a carriage? Until he took her to a hotel? Until they said goodbye forever?

It had always been the plan. A plan Bea had willingly agreed to. But during their short time together, what a relief it had been to have someone she could lean on. Someone she could talk to on terms of equality. Someone she could smile with.

But no longer.

Bea forced herself to release her grip on Jack’s hand. If they were going to part⁠—

But there was no if about it. Their bargain had reached its natural conclusion. It was pointless to cling to him. Trembling knees or no, Bea must once again stand on her own.

Jack swept a concerned look over her. “All right?”

“I don’t recall the Channel being that choppy when I left England ten years ago,” she said.

“Ten years is a long time. How does it feel to be home again?”

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I haven’t a home here to speak of. Not anymore.”

“You will,” Jack said. “I’ll find you a good situation, Bea. You have my word.”

Her heart withered. She didn’t know why his promise should be such cold comfort. When she’d left India, a good position was all she’d been hoping for.

But not anymore, it seemed.

All the time she’d spent in Jack’s company, pretending to belong with him and to him, had altered the modest limits of her dreams. She knew now what it was to be looked after, protected, cherished.

None of it had been real, of course. Only a pantomime sufficient to fool the other passengers. Yet in the process, some small part of it had managed to fool Bea too.

“I’m obliged to you,” she said. “But a situation isn’t the same as a home.”

“You’ll be settled at least,” Jack said. “And safe.”

Several ladies and gentlemen pushed past them, wrapped up in overcoats and cloaks, their loud voices carrying on the sea air as they bustled toward the cabstand, or to the carriages that awaited them on the street.

The docks were excessively crowded at this time of evening. Urgency vibrated all about them—a vital, palpable thing. Everyone was coming and going so quickly, so purposefully. Captain Thornhill was among them. Bea saw him in the distance, making his way toward two gentlemen who were striding to greet him. One was a slim, bespectacled fellow, and the other a blond giant of a man in a brown cloth coat. The giant came forward to embrace the captain while the man in the spectacles looked on with a smile.

Jack followed Bea’s gaze. “Thornhill spoke truly, then,” he mused. “He did have someone coming to meet him.”